And There is Blood
by Rose of Brisingr
Summary: And there is blood. Blood on his clothes. Blood in his throat and blood on his burning cheeks. Even in his eyes the blood dwells like a rain of rubies and he does not know where to go or what to say. He is blinded by all this horrible, ugly, gorgeous red. It is beautiful. Beautiful in a disturbing way. A sign for death. Nothing is sweeter than death.


Hello :3

First, I have to confess English is not my first language. Usually I actually write my stories in German for I live in Germany (Haha, surprise I know)

To play it safe I'm apologizing for any mistakes in spelling, grammar, etc. if there is anything to be found ( God, I hope not...).

Enjoy reading ^^

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Pure fascination blinks in Loki's eyes while staring at his hands. He wonders how intensive the red glows touched by the shine the torches draw on the walls.

Paired with his pale skin a contrast forms, loathly and inappropriate. But still containing a strange harmony, blended with such ghostly beauty it almost scares Loki's mind to quivering shreds.

Without averting his gaze he bathes his fingers in hot water. He watches, almost seems to be hypnotized when dark colours are rising. Flawless liquid turns to mud and decay. He lifts his head and meets his own reflection in the mirror.

And there is blood. Blood on his clothes. Blood in his throat and blood on his burning cheeks. Even in his eyes the blood dwells like a rain of rubies and he does not know where to go or what to say. He is blinded by all this horrible, ugly, gorgeous red.

It is beautiful. Beautiful in a disturbing way. A sign for death. Nothing is sweeter than death.

And only death was needed to befoul his terrified soul.

Loki is not sure what he should feel. His heart hesitates. He is 14 years old and barely two hours ago he killed a man. A foe.

It was his first murder, it was the first battle he took part in. A Vane dashed on him – he had to kill him. Didn't he?

When Loki closes his eyes moving pictures are flickering in the blackness of his thoughts.

The surprised expression on the warrior's face when Loki's dagger fluently slides through the leather of his armour, entering deeply into his right heart ventricle.

The thick mixture of saliva and blood pouring out of the corners of his mouth.

Loki automatically compares it with the spumous evidence of a rabid animal.

He watches as the man crashes to the ground. Shield and sword clanging down on both sides. Vitreous eyes stare blankly and blind into the void. Loki hears his own panting, loud and rashly. Adrenalin chugs through his veins in a halting way.

Behind him his comrades scream and jeer. Even Fandral exhales an appreciative whistle. They celebrate while decollating the next enemy.

Loki is accepted. Now he can call himself a warrior. But he doesn't share their happiness.

Pure fascination flashes in Loki's eyes while staring at his hands. He wonders how intensive the red glows in the flagging rays of the falling sun…

He blinks, removing his fingers from the dirty water, peering at them. They are still red. Dreadfully red. Rapidly he puts them back in place, clawing his nails into the pottery of the wash-bowl.

His breathing gets faster. In and out. In and out.

The heartbeat in his chest is like a prosecution. The oxygen in his lungs is like a sacrilege.

And suddenly there are firm arms, which wrap him from behind and a body, which presses against him. A second pulse pounding in his back. Hot breath on his neck. Thor smiles at him. Wide and honest. Simple, oh, so simple as water flows and men breath.

Thor is 17, bronzed and his hair is a golden fan tenderly touching the collarbone. His eyes are a deep blue ocean swirling in an endless storm.

Loki loves these eyes. More than anything else.

Yet he'd never admit that fact at all. He is quite young but he's proud.

Thor's fervid skin nestles on his cold flesh and Loki would have actually hated it.

He does not like physical contact. He never liked it.

Because one single touch reveals him his own vulnerability.

Now he allows it. Well, sometimes it is impossible to avoid it.

Especially when he is unable to move. His limbs act numbly. He can't even remember how he has made his way back to Asgard… oh whatever, it is not important anymore.

"How many men you've killed already?"

The question flees from his lips as a feather slowly flying into fire. Voice sounding calm, but particular thin.

Thor notices Loki's malaise, burrowing his nose in the delicate curve of his neck. First stubble grows on his chin, scratching the mellow flesh.

His little brother disappeared quite fast, after arriving from their trip. This troubled him. Thus he searched for him, found him in his chambers. Standing in the bathroom. And while observing Loki he recognizes, he should have looked for him sooner. He doesn't like Loki's stony expression. No more than the question Loki wants him to answer.

"I don't know.", he says awkwardly, "Hundred maybe. Or...three hundred. I stopped counting."

Loki nods.

Again his attention focuses at the water quench. (soon his fingers are going to shrivel...)

"Did you ever thought about - I mean, what if they had a family? Siblings? A wife? …children?"

"Yes, earlier. Very often.", his brother confirms, now without hesitation or shame. Loki sighs.

His brother. His big, perfect brother. Pride of the Asgardians. The jewel in the crown of their kingdom. Brave, fearless, helpful. The favoured heir apparent. The golden prince. What is Loki beside the mighty Thor? Nothing. A shadow.

The grip around Loki's waist tightens.

"You did well today, Loki. He was a foe, a beast standing on two legs. He would have struck you down just as you had your way with him. I'm... I'm very glad he didn't harm you. Mother would never have forgiven me… I would not have forgiven it myself."

Loki nods again. A mechanical gesture. Understanding.

Nonetheless there is still blood. Blood he is not able to wash away. It is everywhere. Everywhere.

"Will it go away?", he asks. A sharp pain rising in his chest. "Does this… feeling goes away after some time? After a few hours,days or... months? Please, tell me the truth."

It takes a while until Thor answers.

"No.", he replies and ruins Loki's last hopes, shattering them into teary pieces, "But some day it will only remain as a little, pathetic stab in your heart. You'll barely feel it."

"And what happens, if I can't feel anything anymore?"

Currently honest fear lingers in Loki's voice. This time Thor looks really worried. He lays his eyes on his little brother's hands, which still swim in the water.

Following a suggestion he pets the smooth skin under his rough fingertips, trying to give comfort in a silent way.

He does not look at the blood. For him Loki's appearance remains as clean and neat as always. Lovely. He'll never be that lovely. And that is good. Beauty is not made for brutal combat.

"This won't happen.", he murmurs, hides his shaking insecurity behind tall standing words, "As long as I am here nothing like this will happen to you. I'll watch over you, yes? As long as you're under my protection, you are safe."

For the first time since the battle a scrawny, sad smile cuts in the marmoreal corners of Loki's mouth and a mountain is falling down from Thor's heavy heart.

Gently pulling the hands of his brother out of the sink. His eyes become large by looking at the scalded skin brought up to the surface. Drying them in a hasty manner he carefully ties them with a corner of his cape, then he searches for a healing stone. Relief befalls him when he locates the medicine in the upper drawer of one of Loki's shelves.

Loki's smile stays unchanged. He does not seem to realize the pain of his burns. The smile even persists, when they decide to go to the party taking place in the ballroom without a formal reason (as always).

But the red on his hands stays, too. And it will never wear off. Never again.

He is damned for eternity.

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Hello again :)

Hope you've enjoyed this little piece^^'.

Please... rate and comment (?) ^^'


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